crushedThe conversation at the pub last night repeats, and the taste of wine drowns out my pain. Too brief! Come back! I want to start drinking at work. Or give up drinking. Or give up work. "Aren't they sweet?" asked Barbara, "Look, all those 70s fashions, the little floral dresses, they're coming back into style!" Perhaps I wince a bit too hard because she quickly backpedals, "Maybe they're a bit too sweet," and within minutes, they've become "just awful. Flower, wither, die.
I'm resizing pictures of teenaged girls getting henna tattoos today. Unfortunately, the photos are so bad, it's not really much fun. An older, male, worker grabbed the tech out of my hand and went off on a tedious and pointless wander around what should have been female space with it, running out the battery, and leaving me with a whole slew of pretty dismal, unrecorded, uncaptioned shots. Dork. Had a particular fondness of pointing the camera at people doing stuff in front of large windows. Blurry sillouettes against blinding white space, anyone? Ho hum. I have Photoshop, I have the power.
Ow. Oh. Um. More tea tree oil I think.
